


I never missed a note

by psychomachia



Category: Stoker (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time - Getting Pegged, Forced to Confess Sexual Fantasies to Desired Partner, Getting off on how much partner trusts them, Hand Jobs, Trust Kink, Trying to Stay Quiet While Being Fingered in Public To Avoid Detection, Turned On By Violence, implied/referenced Breathplay/Edgeplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-02-22 23:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23601850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/pseuds/psychomachia
Summary: Charlie and India learn how to love each other. Murder is naturally involved.
Relationships: Charlie Stoker/India Stoker, one-sided Charlie Stoker/Richard Stoker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	I never missed a note

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asuralucier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuralucier/gifts).



### 1

The first night, they're both flush with excitement, giggling like children as they drive away. Somewhere behind them, they've left her mother, sobbing and broken on the floor, but it doesn't matter. Evelyn would have to admit what just happened, would have to explain that her daughter hid a murder, ran away with her uncle, and that now, no one will ever love her again. 

India would feel bad for her mother, but honestly, she should have known better. Didn't she tell you the world would rip you apart?

Still, it pays to be considerate. “Thank you,” India says. “For that.”

Charlie smiles. “You know I'd do anything for you.”

“Anything?” she says.

His eyes hold steady as he looks at her. “Yes,” he says. 

“Remember that.”

### 2

“I always wanted you,” he says, staring at her like he can't believe it's really happening. 

India's running her fingers along his chest, casually exploring him. 

“Tell me more,” she demands. She leans down, nips at his neck. “Tell me everything,” she whispers into his ear. 

“I waited so long.” Charlie's straining, his cock hard and leaking. “He promised me you, and then--”

“Did you love him?” she asks, curiously. India lets her fingers trail along his stomach, his thighs, and watches his hands very carefully. He wants to touch her, she can see, but he's not allowed to. Not yet. 

“India--”

“The truth. You promised me.”

“Yes,” he chokes out, sobbing. “Yes. But he didn't love me--”

“He loved you,” she says. India takes his cock in her hand, fondles it and feels its heat. Such a strange thing that it all comes down to this. Poor Whip. His never would have been good enough. 

Charlie closes his eyes. He's crying. It's lovely. 

“No.” He doesn't sound like he believes himself. 

“It's all right,” India says. “I forgive you.” It won't be the first lie she's ever told, but it's one of the kindest. “Keep going. What do you want from me?”

“I want you to—India, please.”

“After you killed Whip, I went back home because you said you'd take care of it. So I took care of myself. I went into the shower and I came to the thought of you killing him, watching him realize that he was going to die, and knowing that the last thing he would see was me.” India keeps stroking Charlie, not letting up until she feels like it. 

The way he moans, pants, chokes out breaths—if India wasn't watching him, she'd think he was killing him. 

A wave of pleasure passes through her and she crosses her legs. “So tell me, Charlie,” she says, flashing a smile that shows her nice sharp teeth. “What do you dream of?”

And Charlie breaks. “India. My India,” he sobs. “Everything. I want to fuck you and I want you to fuck me and I want us to kill anyone that tries to seperate us because I just want to be with you like I was meant to.”

Oh, Charlie. “All right,” India says, and she releases her grip, lets him come in her hand, releasing as she sees his eyes open, fix on her. 

Her eyes, too. Were they always this blue?

She wipes her hand on the sheets. Charlie's breath is settling, becoming less ragged. He's trying to regain control. 

India allows it. It's only fair. 

“India,” he says and his voice is dreamy. He's going to fall asleep soon, but he's trying to stay awake, like a child told they have to go to bed. “What do you want?”

“We'll see,” she says and goes to his waiting arms. 

<

### 3

His hand reaches below her skirt, and she narrows her eyes. 

“Charlie,” she hisses. “What the--”

“Shh.” He smiles at her. “Don't you trust me?”

No. 

“Yes,” she says. That always seems to cheer him up, and he smiles brightly at her. 

“Thank you.”

His fingers, warm and deft, dip into her underwear, touch lightly upon her skin. They stroke along the curls, but never pull. Charlie doesn't want to cause any pain to her. 

She's taught him that. 

India keeps her hands firmly in place, in front of her. There is a temptation to move them down, to help guide him, but she's curious about if he'll find it on his own. 

“India,” he breathes. “Oh, India.”

“Keep going,” India mutters. “Don't stop.”

His fingers slip inside her now, and she almost jumps up, but his other hand, rests gently on her back, soothing her, He puts his head on her shoulder.

Charlie moves his fingers, is careful to go slowly, gently. He brushes past her fluttering movements, and explores everywhere he can reach. He strokes inside, trying to find the spots that make her arch more, make her clamp her mouth shut to keep back a moan. 

“I wish I could hear you,” he says, as he rubs—oh, and India really clamps her hands down tight, bites her lip until it bleeds and she has to lick it away, her tongue flicking out. Charlie watches it and India knows, in a different time and place, he'd be pressing his mouth to hers and trying to take blood, breath, and everything she'd be willing to give him. 

“Charlie.” She puts her head to his, closes her eyes. She doesn't need to see to know how this goes. Just feel him as he keeps stroking, rubbing, bringing her to a climax and he says her name softly. India. India. India. 

I love you, India.

“Yes,” she says. “Yes.”

His hand supports her as she comes, sticky and wet in his hand, and she turns to look at him.

Charlie's smiling. He massages her back, lets her breathing calm down. 

He takes his hand out, brings it up to his lips, and licks it reverently before taking it away. Charlie winks at her. 

“That was lovely,” the woman says, coming back into the room. “Sorry for listening in, but my call ended a bit early and I didn't want to interrupt. I didn't know you could play, Ms. Matthews.” 

India startles a little, but Charlie just keeps smiling. “She's very talented,” he says. 

“Well, then this place is perfect for you, isn't it.” The woman nods her head. “Sound insulation, not a lot of neighbors, and of course, plenty of room to play.”

“Perfect,” India says. She looks at Charlie. “We'll take it.”

### 4

There's no one around to see them when they return, which is just as well, considering Charlie's covered in blood and India really wants to save the rest of her energy for things other than disposing of nosy witnesses. 

“You're just so perfect,” Charlie says dreamily, as he takes his coat off, and drops it into the trash bag. “I thought I was done for.”

“Don't be stupid,” India says. Her stockings are a waste and she did like that sweater, but only dry cleaning's going to get out that stain and try explaining that to them. “I'd never let anything happen to you.”

“Of course not.” Charlie's pants follow and some of the blood soaked through, because there's trails of brownish-red on his legs, his arms, even his neck. 

Perhaps it was a bit gratuitous, but shotguns aren't known for precision. 

“You've got some on you,” he says, and India looks down to her bra—damn. There's a bit of matter that made its way down there. Charlie walks over, deftly plucks it out and tosses it aside. He's grinning. “Looks like we both need to clean up.”

It doesn't take long for the water to heat up and the shower has always been big enough for the two of them. There's a brief battle over which one of them gets to wash her breasts, which ends with Charlie's soapy hands running over her nipples while India lets hers run through his hair, smoothing out the sticky strands until every last bit is clean. 

Then Charlie drops to his knees.

India sighs fondly. “Charlie. Just because I mentioned it to you that one time...”

“I can't forgive myself for missing out on it,” he says. “I could have helped you out.”

“With my mother there?” India snorts. “What if she had walked in on it?” It's funny how now, there's no sting to the words, no sadness. Perhaps a bit of regret, but it's easily pushed aside. It's in the past, after all. 

“Then she could have watched,” he says, and he places his hands on both sides of her, opening his mouth and letting his tongue catch a few drops of water before he goes in. 

India reaches her arms up, lets them brace against the wall, and Charlie's tongue is in her, tasting soap and water and something that he tells her he will never get enough of, no matter how many times he does it.

And yes, his tongue is just as talented as his fingers, playing her with the knowledge that he's gained from careful exploration, from countless hours of foreplay and caressing and stroking her, all a gift to him that he doesn't tire of. 

He licks her, and she's wet, inside and out. Charlie also likes to hum, and sometimes India's able to identify it as a piece they've just played together, a duet he wants to repeat in her body.

Sometimes, it's something she's never heard and it's as if he's composed something new, an improvisation to be played out in her flesh until they're satisfied.

If he writes it down, she hasn't seen it. 

Perhaps she will, when it's something he thinks she'll be proud of.

But for now, he's just intent on making her come, a solo that sees one of her hands reaching down to tangle in his hair as his tongue finds her clit. He'll take her orgasm as always, lapping up the fluids with a smile on his face.

A shower with Charlie means you're clean inside and out. 

India comes and Charlie hums a little as she does, a familiar tune that she focuses on even as her knees threaten to buckle. He pulls his mouth away and he stabilizes her, holds her steady as she slides against the wall until they're both on the tile, wet and panting. 

It clicks suddenly. A duet. The two of them side by side, her shoes arching, as he reached over and--

“Was that—?” 

Charlie kisses her, a sopping sweet kiss that lingers until he takes his head away and drops it to her neck, licking up the water that runs along it. 

“Oh, Charlie,” India says. “You're such a romantic.”

### 5

“Take a deep breath,” India tells him, and Charlie obeys. He's positively giddy and yes, she supposes this was one of the best presents she could have given him, along with a new pair of sunglasses and a corpse in the freezer. 

He's on his hands and knees, and not for the first time, she thinks how unfairly gorgeous he is. It's not a surprise why so many people trust him. 

Or why he only trusts her. She could do anything to him.

India knows that for certain now.

She could wrap a belt around his throat, choke him until his eyes rolled back and he was collapsed upon the floor, fighting for air, and all he'd do was thank her. 

She could blindfold him, run a knife along his skin, let his blood bleed onto the sheets. His skin would turn pale, cold, and he'd barely be able to lift his arm. He'd fade into darkness with a smile on his face.

But enough about possible anniversary gifts. 

She puts her hand on his cheek, feels it quiver slightly. Just because he trusts her doesn't mean he's not scared.

Or excited. Either works. 

India slips her fingers inside him next, feeling along. She won't keep her hand there for long, but she needs to feel how ready he is.

He trembles as she touches him, but then he always does. Does he think this is a dream he'll someday wake up from, trapped in the institution her father put her in?

India still hasn't forgiven him. But she understands it now. Love is madness, though perhaps not most discreet, if certain newspaper articles are any indication. Someday, this may all end in death and blood and the police finally catching up with them.

Will, if she's being honest. She takes her fingers out, positions herself. It's strange to see a cock at one end, but odder things have happened. 

“Charlie,” she says. “I love you.”

“Always,” he replies, and India pushes in. Gently. Charlie needs kindness, craves affection and love and India gives it to him.

In return, he gives her the world. 

He's sobbing as she goes deeper, thrusts into him, and runs her hands along his sides, smiling as she does so. Charlie's a good boy, she thinks. 

“You're doing well,” she says. “So well.”

“Thank you.” He's crying again. “Thank you so much.”

“You know I'd do anything for you,” India says. The cock fills him up and he clutches around it, as if he's trying to draw it deeper into himself.

She's relentless, but not cruel, allowing him time to breathe, to reassure himself that this is really happening. To know that it's her and no one else. 

Charlie loved her father.

He loves her. 

“Remember that.”


End file.
